


Demetrius and Lysander

by AugustinianSeptember



Category: If We Were Villains - M.L. Rio
Genre: And these two, Fluff and Angst, I have no idea what to tag this I just love this novel, M/M, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 04:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11889969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustinianSeptember/pseuds/AugustinianSeptember
Summary: Dellecher is performing Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream", and Oliver and James consider creating their own ending.





	Demetrius and Lysander

**Author's Note:**

> My bestest online friend convinced me to read "If We Were Villains", so this is for her, really. <3 I fell in love with it and it broke my heart, and the characters have stayed with me ever since I read it. There's no fanfiction for it, as far as I can see, but this is my attempt at writing something for it, which will undoubtedly not be as beautiful or amazing as the original. This is mostly based on discussions I had in seminars whilst studying "A Midsummer Night's Dream" at university this year.
> 
> If you haven't read it, please do so! And if you have, enjoy. <3

The wings of the stage were satiated with thick air, and not in the usual way. They always smelt of stale dust and musty stage curtains, but that had been changed specifically for _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. For every night of the performance, they were instead saturated with the heady sent of nocturnal flowers: evening-primroses, night-blooming jasmine, honeysuckle. Each night they were gathered from the grounds shortly before the performance like a strangely pagan ritual.

I wish I could have said that ritual ensured the safe playing of our performance, but it didn’t, of course. Tensions ran high, egos clashed, and unexpected romances unfurled before the dream-like safety of the magical backdrop. Dreams have no consequences, and warped reality.

All in all, even down to the provocative affect upon the cast and crew, the staging was perfect for _Dream_. Our dull wood acting space had this time been transformed into a wilderness of brilliantly scented night-blooms which would hit their peak fragrance during the final act, a subtle and intoxicating effect. Had someone asked, without a doubt, I would have predicted that the two of us alone would have escaped its witchcraft.

James and I stood in the wings watching a scene between Oberon and Titania, Richard and Meredith, unfold from a distance. Richard made a striking Oberon, all strong jawline, sharp angles and ruthlessness that was dimmed by the character’s age in previous portrayals and aggravated by Richard’s youth. Meredith was a mesmerising Titania, strong-spoken and fiercely passionate. Night-jasmine flowers stood out against her auburn hair, vivid white stars.

“Has it occurred to you,” James whispered next to me, “that the ending of Dream isn’t truly an ending at all?”

I thought before I answered. James had been taking an extremely close interest in Dream, for no apparent reason that I could see. He often posed questions as such to me whilst we waited in the wings.

“As in, it’s too perfect?” I questioned eventually.

“Exactly. It’s the perfect comedic ending. A heterosexual marriage solution. We’re supposed to think that the rest is fantastical, maybe even all just a dream, but it’s an imperfect dream. Doesn’t that sound more like real life to you than the perfect ending does?”

I could feel him looking at me, but I was turning his words over in my mind as I watched Meredith laugh, and I didn’t look back.

“So maybe the ending is the true dream,” I answered, even though I knew it was an inadequate response. I considered some more. “It’s the perfect ending of Shakespeare’s time, though. Not necessarily ours. The perfect happy ending was almost always heterosexual marriage,” I added.

“Yes, exactly. It was,” James said. There was the soft rustle of movement in the near-darkness, and he was suddenly much closer. I started, and finally looked at him. Our eyes found each other’s in the gloom.

“But what if Lysander and Demetrius did this instead?” he continued, and his expression became anxiously earnest as he slipped back into Lysander. I watched, and felt myself falling in tandem into my role as Demetrius.

James: “ _Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,_

_Could ever hear by tale or history,_

_The course of true love never did run smooth_.”

As he spoke, he placed one hand upon my chest, a deliberate touch which made the contact feel much heavier. I understood, then, that he was redirecting the lines to me, Lysander’s infatuation from Hermia to Demetrius.

After a beat, I replied: 

“ _If e’er I loved her, all that love is gone._

_My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourned,_

_And now to Lysander is it home returned,_

_There to remain_.”

James: “ _O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!_

_Love takes the meaning in love’s conference._

_I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit_

_So that but one heart can make of it;_

_Two bosoms interchained with a single oath;_

_So then two bosoms and a single troth._

_Then by your side no bed-room me deny;_

_For lying so, Demetrius, I do not lie_.”

Me: “ _To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?_

_Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show_

_Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!_

_That pure congealed white, high Taurus snow,_

_Fann’d with the eastern wind, turns to a crow_

_When thou hold’st up thy hand: O, let me kiss_

_This prince of pure white, this seal of bliss!_ ”

We were almost nose to nose now. The air felt curiously heavier than ever, sinking into my lungs through thick breaths and dizzying me with its sweetness.

James’ lips were barely an inch away when footfalls approached. The actors onstage were beginning to filter into the wings.

The spell broke around us. His hand fell away from my shoulder and he laughed softly. I might have been imagining it, but above the smile, his eyes seemed quietly sad.

It was time for us to take to the stage again before I could decide who had been speaking: Demetrius and Lysander, or James and I.


End file.
